


Thursday

by extrasystem



Series: Days of the Week [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Swearing, i dont know what to tag this im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrasystem/pseuds/extrasystem
Summary: Peter Parker, clad in shades of green and black, has you wrapped around his finger; you, with utmost certainty, would not be able to deny that the wrinkled lab coat at your waist isn't a result of your asinine affection.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker/Reader
Series: Days of the Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779277
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> loose sequel to Wednesday. i've missed you, peter parker.

You, with all the glory and honour on this pitiful earth, are exceptional. 

A crisp, bleached lab coat dons your shoulders haphazardly, a sign of your late arrival on this Thursday morning; from an expansive window on the fifth floor, Peter curiously watches you shove your way through the swinging doors, swipe your identification card several times until the machine allows you to bypass the security barrier, toss your bag on the sliding belt and whip two sweater-covered arms over your head in anticipation of the security guards ahead.

He’s a good person, he thinks. Yet, the sight of your overtly alert demeanour due to the quick pace of time is an enjoyable one. More so when you’re squeezing by masses of people to sprint into the closing elevator doors that are rapidly approaching its carrying capacity. 

"Parker," A voice calls, "what d’you think about this, huh?"

The university student cranes his head around and reluctantly minimizes the space between him and Tony, but not before his eyes search for your figure that descends up the tower. 

He sputters, "Sure, yeah. Looks cool."

Tony removes his boxy frames in a dramatic fashion and places both of his gloved hands on the belt loops of his jeans. He sighs. 

They’re in a private laboratory and an extended, steel counter stretches the better part of the room under the harsh blaze of fluorescent lighting. His suit — Peter’s — is being entirely redesigned solely due to Tony’s recent stir-crazy antics that have him itching to create _anything_.Granted, the classic scarlet and black with accents of spearmint are almost as aesthetically pleasing as it is functionally impressive. The sheen in the coloured metal is foolishly lightweight and pliant between his hands, a reminder of the strength he forgets he possesses. 

"Kid. What’s going on?"

Peter’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, the hair on his arms standing alongside the terrain of goosebumps as though he was being threatened. And, in more ways than one, he is; his mentor has a menacingly good replica of the look he would get from Ben when he suspected the candy wrappers stuffed in the sleeve of Peter’s pillowcase didn’t belong. He supposes that Morgan running around the Tower has been more than enough practice for Tony.

Still, he’s shrugging through a wild blush from his warm palms to the sides of his neck, insisting, "Nothin’. I think the suit’s cool."

"Okay, first of all, stop saying cool," Tony points his finger at him, sliding his focus back to the laptop and lines of green code after deciding that Peter’s antics weren’t worth the headache. In truth, he’s more afraid of the younger Avenger blubbering his way into another pop culture reference. "Secondly, you gonna help me finish this, or what?"

A stammer of words and unnecessarily formal language later, the pair are hunched over the slick, metal surface in an attempt to finalize the maximum speed. They work in a practiced silence, the murmurs of a handful of people passing by the door and the comfortable hum of an old rock record from a band Peter doesn’t recognize. Then, at last, the pair dub it as ' _The Velocity Suit'_ and, honestly, neither of them can be bothered by scrounging their brains for a creative name when lunch is a minute from beginning. 

Before he knows it, his vision is black. A soothing, sleep-lulling noir. 

_Shockingly_ , his commitments to an honours degree, being a full-time Avenger and maintaining the remaining strings of relationships he has proves to be further challenging than he assumed. He’s living the dream of saving New Yorkers and working with _the_ Tony Stark, though in the absence of genuine rest. 

There’s a firm pat on his shoulder with the door opening and closing shortly after. Peter’s hunched over, his clothed arms forming a place for his head to lay just for a second. A second passes and, suddenly, an hour or two has passed if the numbers on his phone are anything to go by. 

_15:48._

Oh. 

_Oh._

It’s about half an hour into your lunch break and Peter’s heart leaps, nudging against his throat as he taps at his phone.

_Fell asleep. Sorry. Shit. Can I still see you? I’m so sorry, I’ll—_

And the door cracks open an inch. Hurried murmurs and quick-paced footsteps seep into the lab to break the sound of his furious typing. A shoe enters first and he furrows his brows, stepping closer to tip the door wide. He’s greeted with playful eyes and a laminated folder that hangs between your teeth, threatening to pour onto the ground. 

"I—" Peter starts, opening his mouth for it to close again. The end of your mouth lifts. "Um. H-hi." He shakes his head, grimacing. "Hey. What are you — _uh_ —?"

Something incoherent blubbers from your lips and you shove a tray into his hands; warm tingles curl around his nostrils. Bitter, frothy liquid wipe the sleep from his eyes and his cheeks mimic the heat in his palm. Stepping back, he places the tray on the counter and holds the door open with his foot.

You snort, removing the folder from your teeth. "Nice to see you too, Pete."

"Sorry. I fell asleep—" The glare of his phone makes you squint. "—I’m glad you’re here though. Thought I’d miss you."

"Nah. Figured you would be here in Stark’s lab."

He matches the light of your grin and takes a thin breath to flit over your figure, noting the goggle marks around your face. The wrinkle at the ends of your eyes forces his heart into an unsteady flutter. All toothy and boyish, he mouths, "Late morning?"

You groan, knocking your head back and slipping onto a stool. Chestnut pools flood your sight and you shift uncomfortably. "Don’t tell me you saw."

Peter smothers a laugh into his bottom lip and lifts a cup to his mouth. He hears a hearty sigh and the flipping of loose papers. 

"What are those?"

You snicker and bite your lip, eyes dancing with knowing humour as he rolls his eyes. 

"Lab reports. Spreadsheets. Some of Banner’s fucked up handwriting."

His tongue smooths over his teeth, licking away remnants of caffeine. Humming, he slides up behind you and cages your body with his. Peter leans down and kisses the top of your head, glancing over charts of data and messy footnotes. He rests his chin on your shoulder, nodding at your breathy explanation.

Your words catch, stumbling over an inorganic compound when Peter nuzzles the base of your throat. He smiles when he notices a shiver wrack your body and the finger tracing a paragraph stutters to a stop. A sneaky hand traces up your thigh, brushing your lab coat to the side.

"What are you doing?" You mumble, face tilting to glance up at him.

"Nothing," He claims with feigned innocence. "I think you forgot to convert your sum into moles." 

A pause.

"Wait, really?"

Your attention returns to the scribbled sheet, frantically glossing over numbers and conversions that may have slipped your mind. He lets you continue for several beats before the slant of his mouth overwhelms his cheeks, bursting into teased laughter.

"I hate you," You eye him, pursing your lips, "so much."

Peter’s eyes dance under your annoyed gaze; dark eyelashes brushing his skin and faint freckles are more visible with him so close to you. 

"Sorry."

A grunt leaves your mouth, twisting around and away from him to drag your cup to your mouth. 

He whines, "I _am_. Can I take you home later? To show how sorry I really am?"

His chin returns to your shoulder, lips ghosting over your neck with his tongue between his bared teeth. Peter’s warm, through his flannel and jumper, pressing and moulding against you like he belongs there. His hand traces messy shapes on your jeans: a smiley face, star and a flower next. 

"Fine. But is it gonna be Spiderman, or Peter Parker?"

A click of his tongue and, "I heard Peter Parker’s pretty cool."

"Really?" Soft hands on your hips spin you to lock your eyes together. A saccharine grin colours his cheeks an endearing scarlet. Your heart swells, stalling your breath. "Someone told me the exact opposite; _I_ heard he was a bit of a nerd."

"If it’s M.J it doesn’t count," He frowns, staring down at you in serious thought. 

"Well…"

He lifts you suddenly, wrapping around your waist and onto the counter. Your hands grasp at his forearms as a puff of air pushes past your lips. Closer to his height now, you smirk when his lids flutter close to fix his mouth onto yours.

You graze your teeth against his bottom lip, chapped and puffy. Mouths slick with want and neediness; quiet gasps and moans echoing the lab, pushing and pulling until your lips are sore. Hands smooth the wrinkles in your coat and rub up and down your waist hurriedly. You reciprocate by tangling curled tendrils between your fingers and tugging for Peter’s jaw to be exposed. 

"We should—" His Adam’s apple bobs. "— _ah_ …"

"Should what?" You whisper with each kiss.

"Do this later. At home."

"Why? Scared to break the rules, Parker?"

Peter pulls away slightly, flushed crimson and eyes blurry. His shoulder’s lift and drop carelessly while he runs a hand through his hair. "A little. Tony’d kill me."

You pause for a moment, grinning at the genuine worry in his eyes'

"Okay. I’ll see you later, then." You tug at his collar to bring him down again, smiling when he sighs prettily. He squeezes your hip and watches you collect your coffee and papers, stepping outside with a wink.

Later.

For now, he thinks, he’ll see how much faster his new suit _really_ is. 

**Author's Note:**

> the suit in reference is the Velocity Suit in the PS4 game (Marvel's Spider-Man). it's pretty cool if i say so myself but def not the best suit in the game.


End file.
